Death Wish
by AlbusPHolmes
Summary: After the deaths of Fleur and almost everyone he ever cared about, Harry decides to undertake his most dangerous and daring mission yet. His task - to pull them back from the icy grip of Death. Yet there are other machinations at play in the shadows... seems like someone has a Death Wish.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I wrote this for Banta as he's Secret Santa request. Here's his prompt: Harry attempts to force Death to resurrect everyone he cares about who died in the war; it doesn't end well for him, at all. I've tinkered with the plot a bit, and the new summary is the main story summary.

It's a Master of Death!Harry story, but with a unique twist. It's probably going to be a few chapters.

Thanks to Constans and CheddarTrek for their excellent beta work, and to my peeps at DarkLordPotter for the encouragement/critique.

For Banta,

Without further ado, I give you

**DEATH WISH**

_**Chapter 1**_

She writhed against me, moaning with pleasure as I trailed kisses down to her navel. Her eyes were glazed over with ecstasy as she gripped the bed sheet tightly. A few seconds passed, as I roughly kneaded her nipples with my hands. Her eyes were pressed close, tortured whimpers roiling in her delicate throat, her fingernails digging into my chest. Her hair was glistening a bright silver, slick with sweat.

"Fuck me," she begged.

I grinned. She gave a tortured, sensual cry as I slowly maneuvered my way into the dripping wet spot between her thighs. Her hips began to move in rhythm with my thrusts. The Weird Sister's new hit song _Take Me, Charm Me_ played softly in the background.

_Take me, Spin me_

_You can use your wand upon me_

_Charm me, Hump me,_

_Say the spell, have your way with me_

A strangled moan escaped my lips as I strained to hold out against the rising tide that threatened to overwhelm me. To be fair, I did try. My very best too.

_Fleur_, I thought. It was too much. The sheer thought of her sent me over the edge, into the throes of a maddening ecstasy. I shuddered, rocked by the aftershocks of my climax.

She stiffened underneath me. For a few seconds.

"What the _fuck_ did you just call me?"

Did I just say that aloud? Please, please tell me I didn't.

"I said, eh... fur?" I squeezed the thin, soft fur on the bed with what I hoped was a winning smile.

It was no surprise when the left side of my face exploded with pain as she slapped me. My left cheek's had quite some experience, but it's the other one I worry about. That's why I dislike left-handed women - my right cheek is such a softie. I blocked her wrist as it came back for the rematch.

She struggled against my grip, her breasts jiggling in a very distracting manner. "You son of a bitch!"

Interesting. She has quite the short memory. She sure as hell didn't call me son of a bitch when she was siphoning off my money before and after we got married.

"From what I hear my mom was quite a lady, thank you very much!" I yelled back. The mother insults are a very sore spot for me. After all, she did die so I could live.

She pushed me off, angry tears streaming down her beautiful face. Crocodile tears, mind you. I knew her too well to know she was hurt. Maybe a little bit.

She started grabbing her clothes where they were strewn all over the floor, while I watched from underneath the bed covers. Red lace underwear, red negligee, even the red slippers, all paid for by my money. I had half a mind to ask her to return them, I'm pretty sure the receipts are still lying here somewhere, and the sex clothes of the soon-to-be former Mrs. Potter should fetch a handsome sum. An angry jab of her wand sent them zooming into her bag, along with some more from the dresser.

She paused by the door, and threw me a glare filled with so much hate that good old Snape himself would have had trouble matching it, even on his greasiest day. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"You are such an asshole! It's over!" She was fuming so much that the next words were a struggle, though I knew what they were. "I should have known, two divorces and I still can't believe I somehow fell for you."

Oooh, low blow. She didn't fall for me, well she did, kind of, but she started the flirting at last year's Annual Hogwarts Reunion party. So, naturally I blew her a kiss in reply, and had to twist out of the way in a tangle of bedsheets as a severing curse flew at my head. Lesson to remember kids - if you're going to pull a stunt like I just did, always make sure to keep the wand away from the psycho wife.

The beam of white light missed and struck the pillow, showering the area with white feathers. I snapped out my wand from off the nightstand, auror-style. A simple flick had her wand soaring into my open hand.

A smirk crossed my face. "Spousal abuse and all. Don't want to be ruining your chances for an alimony now, do you?"

I tossed her wand back to her. For a moment she stood there gaping, too stunned to say anything. If you looked hard enough, you could see the gears shifting in her head as she processed what her husband for all of two months had just said to her. I toyed with the idea of using a transparency charm on her head just to verify my theory. Nah.

In the end, she settled for throwing a lamp at me, and I ducked as the odd projectile slammed against the bed and crashed loudly to the floor, sending ceramic and glass shards flying everywhere. There was a loud slam, and when I looked back the bedroom door was quivering and Katie Bell was gone, sweet arse and all. Pity. I think if I could have gotten used to her too, if she wasn't so uptight.

Okay so I mentioned the name of my dead wife while shagging her. Big deal. Other guys do that all the time - I think?

It's funny, you know. She's just like the others before her. They all start out the same way, thinking they can mend me, replace Fleur. Even when I tell them they can't. But I am a fair man, and I wouldn't be considered a fair man if I don't let them at least try. So I do. If only for my amusement.

* * *

_The small wooden gate swung open noisily on its rusty hinges. A stream of yellow light poured out from a window onto the cobblestone path. Apart from the chirping of invisible crickets, the house was almost eerily silent. None of the playful noise I had come to expect from Rose and Hugo's boisterous, raucous games. Old Molly was probably waiting to give me an earful because I was late for dinner. A small chuckle exited my mouth. She worried too much._

_I nudged the kitchen door with my toe, the bag of groceries in my hand, weighing me down. I backed into the room and set them on the counter beside the door. The first smell that greeted my nose was not the fragrance of freshly-picked carnations and Enchanter's Nightshade that Molly had taken to putting around the house over the years. There was a whiff of something else in the air - something foul. I chuckled softly - must be Ron's turn at changing diapers._

"_Ron?"_

_Everyone sat arrayed around the homely kitchen table, Hermione with her back facing me._

"_Hey Hermione, where do I put this?" I asked, pulling out several loaves of Goblin rye bread. "Oh and Fleur says she's sorry she couldn't make it, she just got a memo from work."_

"_Hermione?" Surely they weren't praying?_

_I turned and immediately the bags fell onto the floor with a resounding crash, upsetting the small cloud of flies that had settled onto Ron's face. A strangled, shocked gasp tore itself from my lips. Ron, Molly little Rose and Hugo, their faces were set in a rictus of utter horror._

"_What the fuck? Ron!" I took a step forward, and my foot landed into something wet and squicky. Blood, a wet crimson pool of blood, all over the floor._

"_No... no." I wrenched Hermione's seat around, and yanked up her wrist. More blood slathered over my hands. _

"_Rennervate!" I roared and there was a flash of red light. "Rennervate!" Her body glowed a mocking red. "Vulnera Sanentur!" The gashes on her wrist healed up, but she didn't wake. I dropped her hand in horror. "Ron, wake up! Wake up, you git!"_

_I gripped Rose's little body and gave it a mighty shake, and her red Weasley curls shook violently with the movement. "Rennervate!" The magic just seeped into her skin without any effect, she didn't get up. I half-hoped, half-expected her to jump up with a cry of 'boo, Uncle Harry!' Her body lay slumped in her chair, lifeless and unresponsive._

"_Wake up Ron," I screamed, slapping Ron's scarred face. "Your family's dead, you fucking git!" Thin rivulets of blood and pus dripped out of his putrid, smoky eyes. "Rennervate, you idiot! Vulnera Sanentur!" His scars closed up neatly but body just flopped uselessly in his chair. His glassy eyes stared back at me, blank and unmoving._

"_Wake up..." I sobbed. Tears streamed down my face, I could barely see anymore. "Please Hermione. Please..." _

_Hugo was perched on Molly's steady lap, petrified, both their eyes unblinking orbs of unimaginable terror and pain. Blood dripped from his tiny mouth, and Molly's wispy hair was streaked with more red than there had ever been in her lifetime, her neck was heavily bruised. Their deaths had not been quick or merciless. _

"_Vulnera Sanentur! Tergeo! Rennervate!" The small cottage room lit up with flashes of light, the only healing spells I knew streamed from the tip of my wand. The copious amounts of dark magic that lingered in the air shrunk back in the face of my potent anger and frustration, dried splotches of blood disappeared and slowly their wounds faded into faint scars. _

_I wiped the tears from my eyes with a furious swipe. They all sat there, stiff and unmoving, as if frozen in time. Trapped in a heinous travesty of life._

_A sudden unadulterated rage gripped me and I whirled around, my blurry eyes searching, looking for some clue as to who could have committed this atrocity. Ron was an Auror, my partner, and while he was no Mad-Eye Moody, he was competent. It would have taken a lot to bring him down, and yet there were no signs of a struggle. My second family had just been massacred. _

_Only two chairs were empty, probably where Fleur and I would have sat tonight. Most of the food was cold and untouched. I wordlessly cast a Supersensory Charm on my congested nose, then lifted a half-eaten chicken wing and sniffed it. A faint whiff of something lemony. My tongue darted out and there was a sharp yet almost imperceptible taste of Hellebore. The food had been spiked with Draught of Paralysis, the smell had most likely been lost amidst the overwhelming aroma of food, until it had been too late._

_I spotted a small square of white poking out from underneath a platter of scones. It was a piece of parchment. There was a short message on it, written in a rough script. A wave of nausea washed over me as I realised that writing had been done in blood._

_I wonder what I need_

_to see if a flower bleeds_

_And what the potter say_

_when his love is taken away_

_I read the twisted poem once. A sea of brilliant, horrible clarity swept through my grief-addled mind. The note drifted to the floor from my trembling hands..._

_Fleur was french for flower._

_A loud crack shattered the oppressive silence of the kitchen and in a whoosh of violently-displaced air I was gone._

* * *

_Celestina Warbeck's 'A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love' streamed loudly over the Wizarding Wireless._

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron_

_And if you do it right_

_I'll boil you up some hot, strong love_

_To keep you —_

_I shut out the lyrics, and i couldn't help the tears that welled up in my eyes. That had been one of Molly's favorite songs. Fleur hated it. They always argued about it. I gripped my wand tightly, hoping against hope, selfishly, that Fleur had not already shared her fate._

_All the protections and wards I had layered over the house were gone, shredded apart with contemptuous ease. The front door creaked open at my slightest touch. Nothing seemed disturbed in the hallway, yet the air seemed laden with the weight of grief, as if the whole house was mourning with me. _

_A different flower lay on each step, marking a lonely, morbid trail on the stairway that led to the second floor. Each was tagged, in the same rough, bloody handwriting._

_A pale lilac - for Hermione, who screamed like a banshee. _

_A blood-red rose - for Rose, whose screams rose._

_A white daisy - for Ron, who wished he hadn't been born._

_A yellow daffodil - for little Hugo, whose cries were so very shrill._

_A honeysuckle - for Molly, who I strangled with my belt buckle._

_The tang of Dark magic grew in the air with each step I took. The banister quivered under the force of my strong, sweaty grip. There was one more flower on the very last step. My feet felt like leaden weights. _

_A beautiful purple iris. I picked it up, for a second I wanted nothing but to crush it under my foot. I unfurled the tiny tag instead._

_For Fleur - _

_The entry was fresh, the blood was still wet._

_- whose life I did not spare._

_My thoughts were a blur as I bolted down the length of the hallway, yet I hesitated when I got to the bedroom door, which was ajar. i didn't want to see, I wanted to turn and run away, run away and never look back._

_I pushed open the door._

_I let out a choked cry._

_The room was in total disarray. Tables upturned, curtains slashed to shreds, a spot on the right wall was scorched black, our mirror shattered into a million pieces. A part of the ceiling had fallen onto the carpet. The bed was the only thing untouched._

"_Fleur..."_

_She was still hauntingly beautiful, even in death. Her face was turned towards me. The velvet bedcovers were draped over the bottom half of her body. Her hair was arrayed in a shimmering silver pool around her head. Her eyes were closed, as if she was asleep. I could have been fooled, if not for the way her neck was bent at an unnatural angle, in a contortion even a gymnast wouldn't be able to match. _

_The mattress sank as I quietly, gently sat down beside her. Against her flawless skin, it was impossible to miss and I was suddenly seized by a fierce pride for her. Two of her fingernails were streaked with a thin line of red. She hadn't gone down without a fight. _

_I brushed away a strand of hair and lowered my lips to kiss her forehead. It was impossibly cool to the touch. I cradled her hand next to my cheek. It felt so heavy, her fingers were so stiff and soft but I didn't let go. Her pale pink lips were ever so slightly open. I could hear her unspoken whisper. She wanted me to hold on._

_It was as if all the sadness, all the pain in the world had seeped into my soul and made it home, yet at the same time I felt so empty. I didn't cry, but my heart ached so much that I felt it would burst out of my chest. A part of me wished it would. I just stared at her face, her hand still pressed against my cheek and knew that an enormous part of my being had just gone with her. It was alright. We just sat there, trapped in a silence that even time didn't dare to break. Just her and I. _

_It was five hours later that the Aurors found us._

* * *

"_I'm really sorry, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, giving my shoulder a tight squeeze. "No one deserves this."_

_My only response was to give him a wooden nod. Around us the investigative team was just wrapping up. Many of them were shooting me furtive, pitiful glances when they thought I wasn't looking, muttering out of earshot. I ignored them._

_Kingsley was still saying something. He clapped my shoulder, and I resisted the urge to flinch at the gesture. "You listening?" He asked, a concerned look in his eyes. "I said, you can take a month off."_

_I waved away his concerns. "I'll be fine, I don't need a month off. So, how many are you putting on this case?"_

"_You're not on this case—," he began._

_My lips curled up into a brittle smile. "I know what you think, but I can handle it."_

_He gave me a look that clearly said he didn't think I was any shape to get back to work. "I understand you want to —"_

_For a moment I felt an almost irresistible urge to punch his hard, black face in. He didn't understand. No one did. But I settled for scowling at him instead. "You don't, but that's alright. I'll see you in a few hours."_

_He shook his head, a stubborn look crossing his face. "Harry, you know I can't let you. Standard procedure."_

"_Fuck standard procedure," My voice was still controlled, showing none of the rising boiling anger I felt. "I'm taking charge of this case."_

_He shook his head, not backing down an inch. "No you're not. I know it hurts, what just happened to you, but you need to take a break to sort things out. I'm putting you on paid leave. Take a vacation. All expenses paid. Merlin knows you've earned it. Go to the Bahamas or something, it's nice this time of the year." A dark, hard look entered his eyes. "I promise, I'll find the bastards who did this."_

_It's funny, all that while I had asked to take a week off for a vacation with Fleur, but he'd always said no, some other time, that there was too much work to be done. And now, now he dared to —_

"_You mean we'll find them. I'm coming to work." I stepped forward, my green eyes challenged his brown ones, daring him to stop me. _

"_I know what it feels like to lose—" he began again._

"_No you don't, you don't fucking know what it feels like." My voice came out in a low calm whisper, though my veins were practically throbbing with rage. "You've lost a co-worker. It's not quite the same you see. I've just lost a soulmate, a brother, a sister, a best friend, a partner, my godson, my wife, a mother. All in one night." I ticked them off with my fingers, like I was explaining something to a dim child. Kingsley's jaws were clenched tight at my tirade. I leaned in closer until my face was inches away from his. "So unless the same thing has happened to you, no you don't know what it feels like. I'm on."_

"_I can't allow it. You obviously need some help."_

"_Yes, you can. Just overlook the rules this once. Either way I'm taking charge of the case." Two of the Auror-Interns, brought along for observation were milling around, staring. Kingsley glared at them, and they made themselves scarce._

_He turned to me. "You know just as well as I do that —"_

"_Please. This once. Bend the rules for a friend. "_

_For a second his eyes softened, and i thought he'd relent but then he shook his head tiredly. "I can't."_

_My resolve hardened with his refusal. "I don't care. I'm on the team."_

_Don't make me do this Harry," he said, a note of warning in his deep voice._

"_Do what?" I asked calmly._

"_I place you under enforced suspension until such a time as you are deemed mentally fit enough to return." His voice was filled with regret, but the look of determination in his face didn't pass. "Look I understand—"_

_There we go with the 'I understand' shit. Cool as you please, I brought my balled fist smashing down into his face. He was sent staggering, unprepared for the blow. I cocked my fist back again, and suddenly half a dozen Aurors had their wand pointed straight at me. Kingsley got up, massaging his jaw, the first hints of anger on his face, but he waved them down. _

"_I'm going to pretend that didn't happen. He said through gritted teeth. He reached out a hand._

"_Give me your badge." _

_I considered not handing it over, but I did anyway. His fingers closed over it. He stared at me long and hard, before his expression seemed to relax into one of sympathy. "Don't do this to yourself Harry."_

"_Too late. Keep it." I was already walking back towards the front door. _

"_I'm really sorry Harry."_

_I didn't look back._

* * *

_A thick, muddy liquid bubbled in the goblet. I took out and uncorked a small vial, careful not to upset the tiny flakes of red at the bottom, the dried blood I had scraped from underneath Fleur's fingernails. I emptied the miniscule contents into the goblet, hoping it would be enough. The Polyjuice potion frothed and hissed, before assuming a putrid green shade that smelled like bathroom scum._

_I closed my eyes and gulped the potion, grimacing at the foul taste. For an instant, nothing happened. Then the skin on my face grew tighter, my scalp tingled, my limbs stretched out with crunching pops, my fingers lengthened painfully. It was over as suddenly as it had begun. _

_I opened my eyes, slowly, and stared back at my reflection in the mirror. Lank dark hair, a long, pale twisted face, cruel brown eyes, a hard jaw and a hooked nose. My chipped lips curled up into a grotesque, mirthless smile. I knew who I had to kill._

* * *

My conscience died a bloody death on the night I discovered Fleur's broken body in our bedroom. Armed with my trusty Holly wand, I got my revenge. The copious amounts of violence and bloodshed along the way were unavoidable.

Anyway, quite naturally, the Ministry decided they were going to throw me into that god-forsaken prison for my "crimes". Not that it would be able to hold me, mind you, but the remnants of the Wizengamot that still supported me, which coupled with the loud outcry from a public that revered the ground I walked on, was enough to stay their hand. Especially given that all I was doing was clearing the Wizarding World of the scum that still infested the dark corners where no one was brave enough to look.

For my freedom, the Ministry demanded I make some concessions. Losing my job as an Auror was easy enough - I only joined the Auror corps because Ron was in it and I had enough gold to last me three lifetimes.

However one of the odder demands was that I settle down with a man or woman, they weren't very choosy in the clause. They believed I was broken, and getting a wife would help me of the road to recovery. At least that's what the Daily Prophet put it. The world had taken to calling me The-Boy-Who-Broke, an invention of Rita Skeeter's , I believe. In a way everyone is broken, some more than others - I'm just awake enough to embrace the truth of it. So naturally I fought it every step of the way, but the same people who had supported me now wanted to see a fairytale marriage and the redemption of their jaded hero.

So I gave it to them. Albeit a twisted mockery that served my own amusement. If marriage was going to be my get-out-of-Azkaban-free card, then so be it.

Lavender Brown was first. She'd always fancied me during our school days and now I think it was the element of danger around me that attracted her most. That and the title of becoming known as the woman who tamed Harry Potter. Knowing the size of my vaults from her work at Gringotts certainly helped too.

I played along, we fucked on our first date, fucked on the second and then fucked some more. Every meeting was soon conducted with few words, degenerating into us ripping off our clothes like feral animals and engaging in mindless indulgence of the pleasures of the flesh.

By the way don't listen to what people say - indiscriminate amounts of sex can and will lead to chemistry; it did with me and her. For a while at least but enjoy it while you can.

Eventually marry we did, we gave the world the wedding they wanted, if only to spiritually cement what was rapidly turning into a lifetime of fucking. And Lavender was a kinky bitch, the things she made me do would curl your toes and make you groan with pleasure.

Except after just a week, that chemistry became a chore. What Fleur and I had before was a love too strong, too entwined into the fabric of my being to die with her death.

I longed too much for her. It was maddening.

Every time I kissed Lavender's luscious red lips it was Fleur's perfectly pink ones I tasted. Every time I sank my hands through her dirty blonde hair, it was Fleur's silver tresses that I felt rub against my callused fingers. Every time I stared into Lavender's brown eyes, I saw my face reflected in passionate dark-blue eyes that fit so perfectly on Fleur Potter's perfect face. Even assuming that I hadn't been in love with Fleur, she was still far too stunning from a physical standpoint, in a way few girls can come close to, let alone surpass. She was too much of a tall order to beat.

_Lavender danced through the clothing aisles, a look of absolute delight on her face. For her this was probably paradise. Lingerie, as far as the eye could see, ranging from a hideous rainbow colored set to frilly black ones I wouldn't mind seeing her in at all. I followed behind her, already bored. She already had so many that she could start her own clothing line._

"_How does this look?" She held a purple satin bra to her chest. The tag said it was augmented by magic to resize to fit the wearer._

"_Fine, fine," I muttered, looking beyond her. Something else had captured my attention. Just down a row of the new velvet Invisibras, a line of luscious red lingerie hung. I remembered them very well. They were the same ones Fleur had worn on our honeymoon, the ones she had worn so perfectly. I was barely aware of Lavender's chattering as I walked towards it._

_I picked one up, marvelling at how the lacy material flowed through my fingers. Just like it had, back when I had slid them off Fleur's delectable body. It fell to the floor. Sweat glistened on her delectably nubile body. I reached for —_

_Kiss me 'Arry._

"_Harry?" _

_The memory shattered sharply. I resisted the urge to snap at Lavender."What?"_

_There was a naughty look in her eyes as she dropped the sea of silver undergarments she had in her arms, and pulled the red one from me. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively as she pulled the bra over her head. _

"_Do you like what you see?" The fabric stretched taut against her breasts, bringing them into sharp relief._

_My breath hitched in my throat, but a different reason entirely. If I just squinted enough so everything was blurry, I could see Fleur's angelic figure silhouetted in the red panties. She was beckoning me forward with a saucy wink—_

_Touch me 'Arry._

"_Harry?" _

_I was jolted out of the reverie. Lavender stood, having somehow wriggled into the undies despite that she had clothes on, a petulant look on her face. She twirled around and I saw a sales attendant sniggering before sneaking out of sight. "How do I look?" _

_A drop of sweat snaked down my brow. I could barely nod. "You look g-great." Evidently she mistakened my stutter for horniness, because she giggled and stuffed a set in her shopping bag. _

_Sex that night was great._

So that's how the idea grew. With careful hints, such as how I loved silver hair, or how I'd love it if she toned down on her red lipstick, I nudged Lavender in the direction I wanted. Little things, the odd charm here that would change her eye color to a bluer shade, the cosmetic job that thinned her waist slightly and brought her closer to Fleur's own lithe figure, a bit of work on her cheekbones to make them more prominent - I, with surgical precision, chipped and modeled Lavender into the woman I wanted.

And of course, she loved every minute of it, the bimbo. At first she had been suspicious, but as the sex improved dramatically and the money flowed through her hands like water, she became much more malleable in my hands. She was too caught in her role as of keeping me happy to realize what I was doing to her.

After all she still looked different enough to be her own person, but close enough to Fleur that if I just closed my eyes, I could pretend the woman moaning in ecstasy underneath me every night was the haughty, fiery French woman I had lost my heart to.

It was a year later before Lavender caught up with not-so innocent scheme. One night, in a fit of firewhiskey-induced daring, I asked her to try on some of Fleur's own lingerie for size. With strength that I never knew existed in her petite frame, she swung her fist at my head, and the reflexes that served me so well in the war were barely fast enough.

She sued for a divorce and got a healthy chunk of money, both from the settlement and the money the Daily Prophet paid her for an exclusive. Last I heard she's living off the coast of the Caribbeans with some rich Italian wizard. Poor bastard.

Romilda Vane followed, eager to take Lavender's vacant spot and claim a slice of the Harry pie for herself. Her obsession with me since school had not abated a tiny bit all this while. So I dancedin tune with her. We courted for a while and she even seemed quite amenable to my suggestions of remaking her appearance. Until the night of our honeymoon, when I discovered that she was planning to dose me with Love potions to seal my love for her.

No can do, crazy lady.

I gladly took the psycho bitch to court, and she finally took the hint when I threatened to cave her face in if she didn't sign the divorce papers. She only lasted some three or so months.

And, until a few minutes ago, Katie.

If only everyone could get into their thick skulls that Fleur is one of a kind, that she's fucking irreplaceable, then we'll all be very happy.

But as I've mentioned, I'm more than willing to let them try, if only for my own amusement.

* * *

Pushing those thoughts out of my mind I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and slid them into my slippers, my mood officially ruined. The summons to the Wizarding Court will be here soon, together with a small army of reporters and a storm of media controversy regarding my soon-to-be third divorce. Rita Skeeter must be having an orgasm right now, the old hag.

I put my hands against a tapestry on the wall, and a thrum of magic answered my call as a panel slid to the side with a grinding noise, revealing a passageway known to no one but myself. Winding stairs, hewn into the stone floor, led downwards into the darkened chamber that is my sanctum sanctorum. My wand trembled under the force of my grip, and the shiver of excitement I felt had nothing to do with the fact that I was starkers underneath my robes. I knew exactly what would cheer me up.

It's been a while since I last visited Antonin Dolohov, murderer of Fleur and countless others, and the man single-handedly responsible for the shit my life's in right now.

It's been too long since I heard him scream.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

The fireplace flared a bright green, and a harried face appeared in the depths of the flames.

"There's been another one?" I asked sharply.

"Yes," Auror Ben Boulstridge responded, his grim expression visible even through the distortion generated by the flickering fire. "One of our very own."

"Who?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Neville Longbottom. His body was found decapitated in his greenhouse just a few minutes ago."

I sighed, before suppressing my grief quickly. "How much time do I have?"

"There's a team headed there in a few minutes. You'll have about ten minutes to get in and out." Boulstridge answered. "But look, Shacklebolt's suspicious. He thinks someone might be feeding you information."

"Does he suspect you?" I had met Boulstridge at the yearly Auror Pre-entry Duelling program, where his heavily transfiguration-based duelling style had reminded in some small part of Dumbledore. We struck up a friendship, and when at the end of his 7th year he had been one NEWT short of the Auror entrance cut-off, I pulled a few strings so he'd get in anyway. I don't think Kingsley knew about our relationship but if he suspected him, then things would be even more difficult for me.

"No, no I don't think so. He thinks it's some of the older guys." Boulstridge responded. "You know the address right?"

"Of course." I smiled at Boulstridge's naivety. If Kingsley suspected him, he'd probably never know it until it was too late. "Thank's Ben."

"Anytime, just be careful." With that his head disappeared from the fire, and it assumed a homely red ambience again. I had work to do.

* * *

The first thing I noticed on entry into the small greenhouse was a large clump of Fanged Geranium visibly straining to get to something in the wide lane between the rows of plants, their toothed heads snapping and biting at something just out of reach.

That's where I found him.

The white tiled floor was slick and stained with a sickening amount of red. Neville's headless body lay in a pool of blood, his hands placed across his chest like a corpse about to be buried. His head had rolled just a few inches away, eyes stuck open in a look of surprise. My face was emotionless as I gently closed them with a hand, but I could feel the barely repressed fury pounding in my ears.

He didn't deserve this. Neville had never married, yet there would be many to mourn him. The earth on Fleur's grave was still fresh - Dolohov would pay.

_Seven minutes left..._

A piece of paper had been shoved in the crook of his arm. The edges were soaked with blood but the red writing was still legible.

_Off with his head. _

_He died in his greenhouse shed._

I put the note back the way I had found it, careful not to leave any traces of my presence behind. If not for the circumstances, I would have laughed at the forced attempt at rhyme.

_Five minutes left..._

The Poet. That's what the Wizarding world's most prolific peacetime serial killer had been christened once the sensational details of the murders leaked out to the public. Another entry in the long list of why I wanted to curse Rita Skeeter so much.

I knelt to examine the wound, sliding on a pair of enhanced spectacles. Standard issue, with a few personal modifications that allowed me to see any lingering traces of magic on a surface.

The cut that had separated his neck from his head was a clean one, blood was still seeping half-heartedly out of. I peered closer.

_One minute left..._

Through the glasses, faint crackles of yellow flickered around the wound, instead of the malevolent red or black I had been expecting. No traces of dark magic. I frowned. I knew of no benign spells that would cause such a precise slice, especially through bone and tissue. I couldn't help but recognise the parallel with the way seventeen year old Neville had loped Nagini's head off. Only a goblin-wrought weapon could have achieved this exactness. Only about three or so of the richest old families owned any such weapons, and there was only one that Dolohov could have feasibly had access to.

I disapparated with a soft pop, just as the loud cracks of apparition began to fill the air. I hadn't visited the Malfoy Manor since I escaped it some fifteen years ago.

* * *

"_Alohomora_," I muttered softly. The wrought-iron metal gates stared down at me, imperious, not budging an inch, and for a second I briefly considered tearing them down. Before I could give the thought any further deliberation, the gates swung open of their own volition with a low groaning noise that sent a peacock fluttering into the air from atop the surrounding hedges. With nary a thought my wand slipped back into my sleeves, its cool wooden length disappearing from my hands.

About a minute later I emerged out of the high-hedged driveway into a beautiful landscaped topiary. Even I had to admit it was pretty picturesque. Flitterbloom shrubs had been trimmed into majestic phoenixes, wings outspread about to take flight and strutting griffins, their jaws wide open in a perfect rendition of reality. Just beyond the garden, a stone fountain was spewing sparkling crystal water into the air, surrounded by a number of low stone benches on the grass. And in the distance, the magnificent manor loomed, the first rays of sunlight dancing on the diamond-paned windows, lending them a glittering appearance.

Gravel crackled under my feet as I strode down towards the marbled patio leading to the main doors.

Pop! I whirled around at the sudden sound, my wand tip blazing with a purple light, and I had to divert the half-formed curse into the ground as a thoroughly ugly house-elf materialized out of the thin air. It jumped as the spell burst apart in a shower of sparks on the marble floor, and glared at me as if it was my fault. I glared back and it seemed to remember its place.

"Knifey, at your service," It croaked in surprisingly deep voice before descending into a low bow, its long nose tip almost scraping against the floor. When it pulled up, its rheumy eyes were shining with malice in a way that reminded me unpleasantly of Kreacher. "Mr Malfoy is asking me to show you in."

Interesting. I nodded, stowed away my wand and followed as it took off at a brisk pace into the mansion. The hallway was bright, lined with suits of armor and portraits whose every eyes seemed to follow my movements as I strode past, until we came to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door.

"Mr Malfoy is wanting to meet you here."

I waved it away, and it gave me another deep bow, before scampering back down the hallway and out of sight. Schooling my face into a smooth, emotionless mask, I turned the bronze handle and stepped into the study.

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, tinkling softly and, below it, a thick red Persian carpet was spread over the expansive floor. Most of the wall was lined with bookshelves and portraits, and a wine cabinet was pressed in a corner of the room. Sunlight was beginning to stream into the room from the curtained windows, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, they were drawn up to the end of the room, where Lucius Malfoy sat in a high chair at the head of a large polished desk.

"Welcome, Potter." His rich cultured tones reached my ears even though his voice came out barely over a whisper. Mostly because of my pardon and despite his confirmed association with Voldemort several years ago, the Malfoy name still carried power in high places, enabling him to maintain more vestiges of wealth than some of his more unlucky Death Eater compatriots.

Every facet of his face was even, and it gave nothing away, like a practised politician, or rather ex-politician. Most of his infamous blond hair was now streaked with lines of gray, and there were light bags underneath his eyes - signs that the years were taking their toll. Regardless, as he sat there in richly cut robes of dark purple, he looked in far better shape than any man of his age had any right to. I caressed my wand under my sleeve, unperturbed. If worst came to worst...

"Please, have a seat." He gestured for me to take one of the smaller padded seats in front of him.

That's the thing with powerful men. Like Lucius Malfoy. Or Albus Dumbledore, though he was far more benign and subtle about it. Every interaction, every conversation was treated like a battlefield of sorts, where words and gestures are wielded like weapons. They might maintain a veneer of respect, but you leave with no doubts about their superiority. Which is why Malfoy had offered me a lower, smaller chair, where he could look down at me from his high perch.

Which, in turn is why I took the offered seat and immediately plopped down my legs on top of his polished desk. I can play with the best of them.

He raised a carefully plucked eyebrow, and I smirked in silent challenge. His lips curled up into a thin smile. "My condolences for your, how should I put it... yes, your recent loss. Such a pity too, I meant to pay my respects at the funeral but something came up that required my attention. I hope you understand."

It must have been frightening the way my face suddenly became devoid of any humor, because the smile disappeared quickly off his face.

"Draco said I was free to visit anytime."

"Draco," drawled Lucius as he walked over to the wine cabinet which clicked open, "is away in Italy on a meeting in the interests of this family. Besides I distinctly recall you saying you would never set foot in here again when we made you that offer. So why the change of mind?" There was a sloshing sound as he poured an amber liquid into a thin wine glass. He turned and held out one glass to me. "Wine?"

His face had a sort of languid, calculating look to it, but it gave absolutely no secrets away. Time to be blunt. "Don't happen to have any goblin swords around here, do you?"

I was banking on his reaction as I studied his face keenly. For a split-second his cold grey eyes darted to the portrait on the west wall, quick as a flash, and then his face regained all composure. It would have been almost imperceptible had I not been watching for it.

"As a matter of fact I do." He smirked. "Or perhaps more appropriately I did. The Malfoy family possessed the infamous Bogrod's Blade for centuries," here his face lit up with a condescending smile "that is, until five years ago when I sold it to a collector for a rather fetching sum."

I followed his every movement as he set a glass beside me. "Then you won't mind if I did a little looking around, so to speak?"

"Be my guest." He shrugged, reaching for a sheaf of papers on his desk. "I'll have Knifey show you to the Armoury."

It was my turn to smile. "That won't be necessary. I think I may find what I need right in this room."

He frowned, and for the first time, something other than the quiet confidence seemed to flash across his eyes. "I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Potter."

I caressed my wand tenderly with my fingers underneath my sleeves as I lounged in the chair, staring deep into his stern face with a smirk. "And I'm afraid I wasn't asking, Lucius." The faint stirrings of anger began to grow on his face but he was too slow as I whipped my wand out and a crimson light surged forward, striking him in the chest. His pale face was awash with red before he crumpled down behind his desk.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" I ignored the furious roar of the portrait of the elderly aristocratic man I had caught Lucius glancing at as I dragged Lucius' body behind the desk and out of sight. "You dare att-" The man's voice was cut off and he was reduced to spluttering angrily when I flicked my wand, silencing and binding him to his frame so he couldn't leave. It wouldn't do for him to alert anyone to my presence here. I tapped the surface of the painting a few taps and was rewarded with a hollow sound. Excellent.

I slipped on my spectacles again and the room lit up like a christmas tree, a myriad of bright colors assaulting my vision. I focussed on the borders of the portrait and began flicking my wand as I started to unravel the strands of magic that kept it sealed to the wall.

There was a satisfying click, and the portrait swung to the side to reveal an enclosure embedded into the wall. A sword hung there, its hilt inset with a single magnificent green emerald. A sizzling sound accompanied the faint red threads of magic criss-crossed just over the surface of the gleaming silver blade, and I reached out my senses, wrapping my own magic around the bindings as I tore them apart.

The blade suddenly fell forward, and I caught it with a gloved hand, wary of the wicked sharp edge. The sharp smell of polished silver entered my nostrils as I sniffed at the blade..

"_Sanguis Revelare_," I whispered, and faint red specks shimmered on the blade's surface before vanishing, as quickly as they had appeared. Not enough for a Polyjuice test. Time to get some answers. I swished my wand, murmuring, "_Reenervate_."

Lucius stirred feebly. His hands shot towards his pockets when he saw my face looming over his before he realised they were empty. I was holding held his wand out of reach. His eyes glinted with impotent fury as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. There was a loud thud as I hefted the sword onto the desk. "Start talking."

"Potter," he hissed through clenched teeth "have you gone mad?"

I gave my wand a subtle wave and a dull hum settled over the room, tell-tale sign of a silencing charm. The door slammed shut. "The blade, it has blood on it. The Poet struck again. A few hours ago a blade of goblin-make was used to kill Neville Longbottom." I kept my wand trained on him, a raging torrent of hatred and grief surging through my veins. "So start talking, while I still have some patience left."

"Blood. On a goblin sword of all things," he sneered, regaining some of his bravado. "Very clever, Potter. I had hoped all those murders hadn't turned you senile —"

"Wrong answer," I snapped, and pressed my wand to his cheek, its tip glowing with a hot, ruinous light. A loud scream tore through the air as his skin began to sizzle, and blood started dripping down his cheek. He thrashed violently but I held his head in a vice-like grip as I traced my wand down towards his mouth, stopping just shy at the corner of his lips. "I'm going to do you the courtesy of asking one more time. Where the fuck is Dolohov?"

"What? Dolohov? Dolohov is the Poet?" Genuine confusion flittered across his pale, angry features. "I have no —"

I tutted, wagging a finger at him in rebuke. "Wrong answer." A panicky edge started to enter his eyes before I snarled, "_Legilimens!_"

With contemptuous ease, I slapped aside his formidable mental defences and ripped into his mind, slipping through like a hot knife through butter. Images sped by and slowed down intermittently as his mind attempted to rally against the foreign invasion, but it was futile as I riffled through his memories, murmuring '_Dolohov_' like a mantra. Then with a crash, the last of his barriers buckled down, all the extraneous memories fell to the side and his recollections of Dolohov rose to the forefront of his consciousness.

I saw Lucius, Dolohov and several others in their first days as Death Eaters. I saw unspeakable acts of cruelty as they killed, tortured, raped, celebrated, all on Voldemort's instructions. I saw Dolohov as he duelled Alastor Moody in the Department of Mysteries. I watched through Lucius' eyes as Voldemort broke them out of Azkaban; Dolohov trading spells with Remus Lupin in the Battle of Hogwarts; Dolohov and Yaxley standing in the Forbidden Forest, awaiting my arrival; Dolohov approaching Hogwarts' courtyard with Voldemort and a throng of other Death Eaters, his face triumphant. I watched as...

Suddenly the influx of memories ceased, and with a sudden lurch, I pulled out of Lucius' mind, my head ringing with pain. Lucius was in a much worse state - the sides of his face were slick with red as blood trickled down from his ears and the scar I just given him was throbbing angrily on his paler than usual face but he was still conscious, his eyelids fluttering feebly.

It made no sense. The memories clearly showed that the last time Lucius had seen Dolohov was during my duel with Voldemort, which meant that Dolohov hadn't been in contact with Lucius since.

Unless... unless they had indeed met but Dolohov had wiped Malfoy's mind of any details after. With my limited skills, I wouldn't be able discern if Lucius' memories had been modified, at least not without raping his mind and turning him into a vegetable on the off-chance my suspicions were right. Veritaserum would be useless too if his memories had been erased - the truth serum only targeted existing facts, not ones that were absent.

I revived him, tugging on my tight collar sheepishly. "It would appear I may or may not have made an error in judgment."

He gave me an incredulous look that clearly said he thought I was out of my mind. "An error in judgement?!" His mouth was almost frothing with fury and hatred as he run his hands against the sides of his head, then showed his blood-smeared palms accusingly. "You call this, you call ripping through my mind an error in judgment?! You'll pay for this P-"

"Call Knifey," I spat, suddenly jabbing my wand in his direction. "Call Knifey or I'll do much worse."

"Very well." He acquiesced rather too easily, the beginnings of a harsh smile starting to form on his face. "Knifey."

With a pop, the ugly house-elf appeared in the room and bowed, its bulbous eyes widening as it took in its master's bloodied features.

"I think you're going to love this one Potter," Lucius sneered, his teeth bloody. His grey eyes glinted with cruel delight as he turned to the house-elf, his voice a hateful snarl. "Kill him!"

With my spectacles on, I barely had time to see the house-elf flare up with a nimbus of purple power before something hard slammed into me. I twisted to the side but the force still clipped me, sending me smashing into the wall four feet away. I heard Lucius' happy crow as I tried to pull myself up, hissing in pain. The house-elf advanced towards me, two pools of crackling purple power in its gnarly hands, its eyes full of hatred and malice. It raised one hand as I slashed my wand, snarling through gritted teeth, "_Sectumsempra!_"

My arm buckled as with a bright white flare the dark spell tore into the house-elf. It let out a keening shriek as it staggered back, pawing at its body as blood spurted out of several slashes.

"_Evanesco!" _I spread out my will, the benign spell rushing forward in an invisible spray, and the house-elf only had time for a muffled 'oh' before it vanished into nothingness, along with all the puddles of blood, leaving the area spotless. A vicious grin tugged at my lips as I watched Lucius' furious, dumbstruck face.

"Oops I think I lost you another house-elf."

With an enraged roar and surprising speed, he grabbed an inkpot and flung it at my head, his face contorted in a hateful grimace. Ducking the hasty projectile, I flicked my wand with a lazy gesture and he toppled to the floor mid-movement, stiff as a board.

I couldn't leave any witnesses to my visit here. I turned to the portrait and found the elderly Malfoy still raging silently in his portrait, his silvery walrus moustache quivering as he shook a stick at me from his frame.

"Sorry for this," I muttered insincerely. With a swish, a thin lance of red-hot flames struck the portrait's painted surface, and the man's eyes widened with fear as it began to blacken and burn. smoke curling up at the edges. I cut the fire off before it could spread to the wall and a small cloud of ashes drifted to the carpeted floor.

Lucius glared at me, frozen, his eyes shining with helpless fury. Despite the fact that he appeared to be innocent, I wasn't very sorry for inflicting this damage on him. His sins were too numerous, and he had practically escaped unscathed due to my debt to his wife.

"You can consider what I did to you payment for all your unpunished crimes." I traced my wand over his face and his wounds sealed up with a sizzle, leaving him with pale scars to show for it. "Oh, and if I find out that you're working with Dolohov, I will come back." I let out a dark chuckle as I looked deep into his eyes, and he shuddered against his will. "And I promise I'll be much, much worse."

He rubbed a hand against the side of his face, before spitting at me, his eyes alight with rage. My eyes narrowed with disgust as the glob of saliva landed splat against my robes. "If you think you are going to get off easy Potter, you're sorely mistaken."

"Doubt it." With that cheerful reply, I stood up from my crouched position, my work almost done. He started to retort, but I had no further time for banter.

"_Obliviate! Stupefy!_"

Five minutes later when I walked out the manor, there was nothing to suggest that I had ever been there to start with.

* * *

I leapt over the last of the stone-hewn stairs, feeling the chill emanating from the cold walls as my robes fluttered with the movement. Despite my best attempts, the smell of blood and decay still hung in the room, a lingering reminder of what it had been used for in the past, and not helped in the least bit by the purpose it served now. A pair of weary brown eyes followed me as I walked past, staring at the gleaming array of silver knives, blades and needles laid out on the sterile workbench with disinterest.

"You're back," a croaky voice muttered, rough from disuse. "Been quite a while."

I ignored the voice as I run my hands around the surface of the low wooden crate leaning against the wall, feeling for a thin crack that marked the opening. My fingers found it and slid the cover to the floor with a loud clatter, sending a small cloud of dust into the air.

"I got married," I said, shrugging. "Had to be clever. Don't think the missus would be very happy if she found out about this."

"And now?" The words were laced with a hint of amusement. "You look happy, like you're going to be staying a bit."

Since I got remarried, my visits to Dolohov had cut short to creative sessions with my wand. It had been a while since I last got the chance to indulge. I pulled a long white lab coat over my neck and slipped on a pair of dragonhide gloves. "She just left. I've got some free time to kill."

"The great Harry Potter got dumped again?" Maddened laughter rang out for a few seconds, before breaking off into round of low hacking coughs that echoed in the closed chamber.

I frowned at the sound. "Are you alright?"

"Not doing bad." The voice was still ringing with mirth. "What d'you have for me today?"

"I think you'll find it quite interesting," I remarked, pulling a tangle of magically-reinforced rubber tubing out of the box, careful to avoid the wicked-looking needles poking out. "Quite painful too. I call it the Prometheus Torture."

"Sounds interesting. Tell me more."

I carried the tubes and laid them on bench, reaching for the cabinet overhead. "You know the story of Prometheus?" I pulled out a vial of phoenix tears I had obtained at an exorbitant price from an Arabian merchant on the black market, and set it beside two large beakers, one half-full with bubbling green acid, the other filled to the brim with water. I unstoppered the vial and tipped three drops of the phoenix tears into the beaker of water, swirling the mixture gently.

"Can't say I have."

I covered the beaker, and drew out a long piece of tubing. With a squelch, I pushed one end through a hole in the lid and flicked the needled end, nodding at the thin stream of clear liquid that came out. I inserted another length of tubing into the lid of the beaker with the acid, then levitated everything over to the center of the room.

Dolohov looked up as my footsteps came closer, his hair hanging in lank, matted strands over the sides of his head. He shook his head, flicking a few strands away from his face, his eyes bright and fevered as he watched me set my contraptions down. Thin arms, weak and atrophied, hung limply from iron chains stretching to the ceiling while his feet were shackled tightly to the floor, leaving no room for movement.

"Prometheus was this bloke who stole the gift of fire from the king of the gods, Zeus, and gave it to humanity. Zeus got pissed, captured him and chained him to a rock. Every day an eagle would come and eat out his liver but the next day, it would grow back again, only to be eaten and regrown again." I lifted his tattered shirt and jabbed the two needles into his surprisingly muscled abdomen. He winced, but made no other sound. "Kinda reminds me of you. You know, you stole my fire, I caught you, blah, blah, blah."

He grunted in agreement, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of interest and carefully concealed wariness as he stared down at the tubes running down to the beakers. Behind the façade of bored disinterest he put up so well, I could smell the mounting stench of fear. "What are those?"

"Acid, and diluted phoenix tears. Simple but effective." I stepped back, running a critical eye over the setup. It would hold. "The acid eats away at your body, while my rather crude potion heals any tissue damage before things get too critical."

"Can't wait," Dolohov grunted. "Never thought I'd pay you a compliment, but I think you're quite a bit better than Bellatrix ever was."

"That's not a compliment." I plopped down into the solitary couch in the room, wiggling down into the cushioned depths, and flicked my wand. A moment later, I watched, transfixed, as a thin line of green and clear fluid began to crawl up through the separate lengths of transparent tubing.

With a satisfied nod, I leant back and closed my eyes, waiting patiently, shivers wracking through my body that had very little to do with the cold in the room. My lips curled up with anticipation as the first whimpers began to fill my ears.

In the end he would scream.

In the end, he always screamed.

* * *

A/N Please leave a review - that's all I ask for.

Cheers, and hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

_In case__ it's not clear, this chapter is comprised entirely of flashbacks._

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Her current levels of academic performance are rather lacking," Headmistress McGonagall said, her hands clasped behind her as she walked at a sedate pace towards the main gates. "Especially if you consider her grades until this year. She was no genius, mind you, but she got along fairly well."

Her companion, a short man who walked with a permanent stoop, nodded, his eyes downcast. "I promise to talk to her." His voice came out in a bitter wheeze as he drew in his patched cloak tightly to ward off the chilly night air, and for a moment the Headmistress felt sorry for the disappointed father.

"Please do," she said. "But do not be too harsh with her. She needs a father now, not a critic, and any hard words may make her lash out even more."

"I've tried, Merlin knows I've tried." The man sighed, his graying hair hanging in sorry wisps around his balding head. "It's just that ever since her mother left us, she's grown very distant. She won't talk to me anymore, I think she blames me for what happened."

"Left us?" McGonagall frowned and turned to the man, fixing him with a stern glare. "Pardon my insensitivity, but you speak as if Mrs. Moore will be coming back. I don't mean to be harsh" and her voice softened a bit, "but perhaps it may be affecting Miss Selena negatively if you yourself are struggling to come to terms with your wife's demise?"

The man seemed to shrink back under the force of her words, and he averted his gaze to his feet. "Yes, forgive me, Professor. It's been very tough, you know, dealing with all the stress and problems. I'll try my best." He stammered. "I only say that she's left us because she's not truly gone, not if we still keep her in here." He gave her a tremulous smile, placing his palm against his heart.

Professor McGonagall moved far faster than her age should have allowed. She slashed her wand through the air, lighting up the night with a bright red flash which flew at the man. The timid man acted even faster, brandishing a wand which had appeared out of nowhere, and the spell was sent flying away in a shower of sparks.

"You!" Professor McGonagall cried, her glasses askew, her wand held threateningly in front of her. "You're the Poet."

The man gave her a short bow and then seemed to straighten up, all traces of nervous energy disappearing from his short frame. His eyes, which had looked so sad and unsure before, now gleamed with chilly confidence and his lips curled up into a cruel smirk. "At your service."

"Where is Mr. Moore?" Professor McGonagall cried, her eyes flashing with fury behind her glasses. A few sparks spluttered out from her wand, drifting gently down onto the grass.

"You tricked me, didn't you? Mrs Moore isn't dead, is she?" The Poet's eyes shone with a mixture of malice and humor as he chuckled, uncaring as the cold night wind tugged at his flimsy robes. "Well one for another. A father for a mother."

"Do not flatter yourself, murderer," Professor McGonagall spat, her voice cold. "I guessed who you were when you first arrived at my office. I met with the real Mr Moore a few days ago and despite his pitiable stature, he was uncouth and unrepentant, not at all like the man you tried to play. I didn't react because I couldn't risk anyone getting hurt." She drew herself up to her full height, an aura of danger and fury spilling off her thin frame as she stared down at the killer. "Now I have no such qualms."

"My, this cat has cl—"

The former transfiguration professor brandished her wand, and a long whip of fire lanced out at the impostor, who flung himself to the side with an inarticulate shriek, narrowly avoiding the sizzling curse. The flames seemed to scorch the very air as they lanced down before veering to the side after their target as McGonagall snapped her wrist to the left.

Dolohov reacted faster this time, rising from a roll and bringing his wand up to meet the attack. The fiery lash swept against a hastily conjured shield with a harsh sizzle accompanied by the smell of burning rubber and a bright flare of blue light, then Professor McGonagall was forced back as Dolohov flung his wand arm outwards.

A blast of heavy force slammed against the elderly witch, but it seemed to bend around her small form and she was only pushed back a few feet, a few strands of graying hair falling out of the tight bun they had been wrapped in, her tartan gown whipping madly around her body as she dispelled the rest of the powerful spell.

She reacted quickly, bending her wrist into a rising strike and Dolohov barely leapt out of the way as thorny vines tore out from the earth and slashed at his face. Snarling, he slashed his wand at her, sending several streams of purple flames streaking forth, before backpedaling away from the furious vines as they tried to wrap around his legs and arms. Taking advantage of McGonagall's momentary distraction, he wrenched his arm away from a vine that had wrapped around it, spurting a green ooze into the air, before he shouted an incantation and hot black flames licked at the mass of flailing vines, sending them shrivelling back from the heat.

Blood dribbling from numerous punctures on his arm, Dolohov lunged forward, his eyes gleaming with demented pleasure and a crimson curse surged forward at the Headmistress, crackling with malevolent energy. McGonagall blasted the spell apart with a bang, her green eyes alight with fury, then her wand flew through a series of complicated movements all in the span of a second, sending a number of silver daggers speared through the resulting smoke at Dolohov, who in turn sent them hurtling into the ground with dull thuds, making small gouges in the ground.

A violet jinx flying at Dolohov was batted aside in a shower of sparks and the man leapt forward, his wand blurring as he slashed his wand at the witch. "_Avada Kedavra!"_

The poisonous tang of dark magic surged forward on a rushing cold wind as the jet of deathly green flew forward, and Minerva McGonagall only had a tiny window of a second to mount a defence, her eyes widening in shock. With a whispered word, the Headmistress shrunk, a tabby cat replacing her human form and the Killing curse soared harmlessly over her back. She was transforming back as soon as the danger was over and she twirled her wand, deflecting the arc of sulphurous magic that bore on her lithe form.

Eyes gleaming with manic energy, Dolohov slashed his wand again, and again, and again. Streaks of purple flames rushed at his opponent with a roaring noise. Undaunted, her face flushed with heat and her wrist flicking at a furious pace, McGonagall sucked the curses into the tip of her wand with a swoosh, then she flung her arm back and forward again and the spells screamed back at their caster, who was forced to raise a slab of earth in the way to avoid becoming a flaming pyre of human flesh.

Still Dolohov recovered quickly and he sent another jet of green at McGonagall, who dodged and twisted her arm, conjuring a long wicked spear, which she banished at him. However the distance between them was much too great, and her opponent much too skillful and Dolohov sidestepped with ease, his lips bared in a hideous grin, his robes torn and tattered, and raised his wand to—

The ground rumbled ominously before suddenly a loud bark boomed through the air. Dolohov whipped to the left just as an arrow tore at the spot where his head had been a split-second ago with a sharp twanging noise.

Fang came flying out of the darkness, jowls flapping madly, fangs bared in a terrifying snarl, and Hagrid bounded in sight a second later with a thunderous roar, armed with an umbrella in one hand and a loaded crossbow in the other as he tried to take aim.

But Dolohov was already on his feet and running towards the gate, sending spells streaming uselessly over his shoulder at McGonagall who gave chase, repelling the barrage of curses with angry swipes of her wand, before the large gray boarhound overtook her easily. It leapt after the retreating Death Eater, its coat gleaming, muscles rippling, and just a moment before sharp canines would have clamped on bone and flesh, Dolohov dove through the open gates and turned on the spot, disappearing with a loud crack.

Fang landed on the spot with a heavy thump, paws scrabbling as he whirled around with more booming barks, looking for his quarry. The aged Headmistress soon caught up at the gates, her hair now free of its hairnet and parts of her nightgown singed.

"Where'd he go?" Hagrid panted, bringing up the rear. "Saw ya walkin' past me hut and I heard the noises later, so Fang and I decided ter come investigate. Who was he by the way?"

"Thank you, Rubeus. It was the Poet," Professor McGonagall said, her voice bitter as she stared at the spot where Fang was still sniffing the air. "The coward unfortunately got away."

"The Poet..." The half-giant trailed off, his beady eyes widening as understanding dawned on his face. "Woulda loved ter have taken a crack a' him meself, an' I know Harry probably would, too."

"All is not lost yet." A grim look entered McGonagall's eyes as she flicked her wand, and a stream of silvery Patronus issued out, coalescing into the form of a silver tabby cat. She smiled and patted the cat as it rubbed its face against her legs, the silver-blue wisps curling up from its body giving it a serene, ethereal glow. She whispered a message, and it nodded before shooting off, graceful and gleaming, into the night.

"Be careful Harry."

* * *

"The Poet came here, as you suspected he might." I recognized the voice as Professor McGonagall's and felt a tinge of worry for my old but formidable teacher. "I was unable to subdue him before he got away, but I was able to plant one of your tags on him without him noticing. I suggest you get on him before the trail turns cold or he finds it out. Unfortunately a student's father died. I already alerted the Aurors. Do be careful Harry, he is very skilled and dangerous."

"So am I," I whispered as the words trailed off, and I watched as the Patronus dissolved into nothingness.

* * *

Even with the twinkling stars and the pale moon out in full force, casting a soft glow down from the sky, Knockturn Alley was still an utterly despicable place. Navigating my way through the labyrinth of streets that criss-crossed the area with nothing but an uncharted map as a guide, the ever-present cesspool of filth and squalor did little to improve my already sour disposition. Still, the feelings of gently simmering rage swimming through my veins had not abated a single bit and I smiled grimly as I stepped around the bend, arriving at a rough intersection.

A breeze swept a foul odor into my nose as I took the left turn, and the intersection opened up into a long, narrow street. It was dimly lit and mostly empty, with buildings pressing down from both sides, looming over the street like silent monolithic sentries. In the distance, two hags stood huddled near the corner of a graffitied building, muttering, their eyes following me, and it was obvious they were likely judging if it would be worth the effort to try approaching me.

I turned in their direction and lifted my head slightly, staring straight at them. In the darkness, all they would see was a menacing figure, vivid green eyes glinting like emerald pinpricks from the depths of a black hood. They exchanged an uneasy glance and shuffled off into an alley way, swallowed by the night.

Stepping neatly over a large puddle of what looked and smelt suspiciously like urine, I reached into my robes and consulted my map. Two small dots flickered on the otherwise blank parchment, a red one marking Dolohov's position and a blue one marking mine, a distance of just a few yards setting us apart. A few seconds later, I cursed softly as the red dot suddenly winked out of sight. My quarry had disappeared.

Keeping an eye on the map, I strode forward at a brisk pace, and the blue dot mirrored my movements, coming closer and closer to the spot where the red dot had been until they were overlapping. I looked up. Dim yellow light streamed out of two grimy windows onto the storefront and a dingy wooden sign swayed gently on two metal link chains, identifying the seedy looking store as Hemlock & Cross's in a crude, scratched script. Neglecting the ominous human-like skull that served as a knocker to the front door, I tapped myself on the head with the tip of my wand, and shivered as a cool feeling slithered along my neck.

"_Intactilis_," The edges of the door wavered just a little bit as if it had been submerged undersea and I walked through quickly before the short intangibility charm could fade. It looked like I had stepped into the sister shop of Borgin and Burke's. The inside was much brighter than the outside suggested, with light coming from several candles that were too bright to be mundane. A myriad of sinister looking antiquities littered the walled shelves. I glanced at wicked looking swords, jars of jellified animal parts, a pair of broken manacles, a leather-bound book which seemed to be leaking black ichor and at the corner of one shelf, a furiously whirring eye speared on a rusted nail came to a slow stop, swiveling to fix me with a baleful gaze as I made my way to the counter.

Behind the counter was a man, his hair held up into a large purple turban as he busily rummaged through a number of stacked boxes. I dropped the invisibility charm and waited for him to notice me. He kept about his business for a minute or so, then turned to grab something from the counter top. For a second he froze, before letting out an ear-splitting shriek as he darted for his wand.

"Wh-ho are you?" He stammered, his wand held out in an shaky grip.

"Is this how you treat your customers?" My voice came out in a rich and cultured accent as I lifted an eyebrow at his stance. In my mind I already dismissed the threatening wand; with the way he held it, it was unlikely he knew how to use it anyway. "Perhaps I should take my business elsewhere..."

I made to leave and he blanched, shoving the wand back into the depths of his voluminous robes.

"Wait, wait sorry, sir," he apologised, an insincere expression on his pockmarked face. "It's just I didn't hear you come in, and you startled me, and business is quite dangerous in these parts, if you know what I mean..."

"I would not know what you mean, seeing that I am clearly not from these parts."

He nodded, taking in my expensive attire and quickly arriving at the same conclusion as I continued.

"Still, your shop came highly recommended to me by an associate, as an excellent stop for those seeking items of a more... esoteric nature."

"Indeed, sir, indeed." His oily lips curled up into a proud smile. "Best around these parts."

"I'll soon judge that for myself," I replied curtly.

"What do you seek?"

I waited a second, casting a disinterested eye around the shop then turned back to him. "Information."

He gave me a blank look. "Information? Of what sort, sir? There are a few books which — "

"You had a visitor just a few minutes ago, a friend of mine. I would be forever in your debt if you could let me know what he purchased."

"I don't think I can give you the answer, sir," the man said, wringing his hands in mock distress, uncertainty on his piglike face. "Buyer-seller confidentiality, you see."

I gave the mental equivalent of a snort, before plastering a fake smile on my face. "I understand, and your loyalty is quite impressive, too, it's easy to see your reputation is well-won." He nodded, a look of relief on his face.

"However," I pressed on. "I am quite willing to pay for said information." There was a clinking sound as I dropped a few galleons on the counter, smiling inwardly at the look of greed which lit up in his eyes as they flitted to the gold coins.

"A friend you say..." A hairy hand darted forward and swept the money off the counter and out of sight. "I suppose he wouldn't mind if I told you then."

He leant forward on the desk, clapping a hand over his mouth as if he was about to impart some great secret. I suppressed a wince as his bad breath washed over my face. "A Cursed 1921 Quidditch winners' medal, that's what he bought. Belonged to the best seeker of all time, Sir Roderick Plumpton."

_A Quidditch medal? Interesting. _"Some would say that title now belongs to Viktor Krum."

"Pssh, Krum's got nothing on Sir Plumpton." He snorted, and I smiled at the evident show of English pride and bias. "Let's talk when Krum catches the Snitch in three seconds or leads the Varna Vanquishers to five League Cups in a row!"

"Many people believe the Snitch catch was an accident."

"Hogwash! My gramps was at the game, saw it for himself, he did, and he says it was no fluke. And old Ramayajhee never told a lie in his life, so I believe him." He shook his head in exasperation. "Some people can't recognize genius if it smashed them in the face like a bludger. You're a Quidditch fan?"

I nodded. "Chudley Cannons."

He winced, throwing me a not-so subtle look of pity. "At least they're in 6th place now."

"Indeed. Perhaps our fortunes will improve next year."

"Good luck." Somewhere in the shop, there was a loud chime and he glanced at a clock, noticing the time. "Sorry for boring you with all this Quidditch talk. Is there anything I could interest you in buying, sir?"

I glanced around the shop, my gaze lingering a little bit on the enchanted eye I had seen on my way in. It was now fixed resolutely in the direction of a worn Egyptian mummy case.

"I see the Eye of Akhmim has caught your attention." He waddled over from behind the counter and reached for the eye, which swiveled towards the mummy case again. "It's a real beauty, this one is. Better than all those fancy Sneakoscopes they've been making these days. Yours for fifteen galleons."

"Ten."

"You drive a hard bargain," A smile crossed his face as he wagged a finger at me, before his eyes hardened ever so slightly, the gleam of a businessman in his element. "Twelve and no lower."

"Eleven," I countered.

"Eleven and twenty sickles, take it or leave it."

I pretended to consider the offer for a few seconds before nodding. "Deal." It mattered little that he was ripping me off. I waited patiently, casting a curious eye around the rest of the shop as he bustled around.

He handed me a curious scaly grey bag. "Tossed in the bag as an extra. Guy who sold it to me said it heats up if the owner has eaten a poison. Never had the chance to test it out myself. Just put in a good word for me and I'll call us even."

I nodded, accepting the bag. If what he said was true it could come in useful sometime. "I will, and thank you."

I took a few steps away before turning back again, and the scowl on his face at my retreating back was quickly replaced by a slimy smile. "I never did catch your name, Mr..."

"Singh, Singh Istah," he replied, beaming.

"Well Mr Singh, you see, there is a tiny problem." He watched, his eyes horror-struck as I pulled out my wand ever so slowly, its tip beginning to glow red. "You see, I lost a few friends at the hands of a merchant like you. The killing blow was not yours yes, but this store is a haven, a supply for murderers, thieves, criminals and purveyors of the Dark Arts, like the one who killed my family. You understand that I cannot in good conscience allow this place to stand."

A box clattered to the floor as he shrunk back with a whimper, a bead of sweat snaking down his meaty brow, his wand forgotten in the face of the paralyzing terror that had gripped him. He twisted his face away from mine, his eyes clenched shut as I leaned in, the truth of my words too much for him to witness. The stench of fear from his quivering form was almost overpowering as I gripped his chin, clamping down on the urge to recoil as his oily skin brushed against mine. In the corner, the mummy case trembled slightly. "If you leave now, you will live another day."

With a vehement nod of his head, he swept past me the instant I released my grip and he shambled away from the counter. There was a ripping tear as his robes caught on a nail, but he ignored it in his haste to get out and bowled through the front door, glad to be free of me.

"_Firalumen!" _A wave of intense purple and red fire swept forth from my wand, fed by righteous intent and potent magic, and latched onto the closest shelf. A red light danced on my face as I watched the sweltering hot flames begin to lick at the aged wood, the first tendrils of smoke beginning to curl up into the rafters. With a grim, satisfied smile, and the heat starting to grow too strong, I spun on my feet and disapparated with a soft pop, just as an eerie howl split the air.

* * *

Black noxious smoke billowed out the open door and into the cold night as a figure stumbled out of the burning shop, coughing, his flimsy robes scorched. For a split second an inky darkness seemed to flash across his eyes as massive presence swept through the street, accompanied by the rush of an unnatural chilling wind, then it was gone, just as quickly as it come. With a cold smile, Antonin Dolohov departed Knockturn Alley in a violent crack of displaced air, his robes bedraggled and smoking.

No one noticed the solitary raven perched atop a chimney, beady black eyes unblinking as it took in the smoke and then with a loud caw it spread its wings and took off, disappearing into the night.

* * *

_A fortnight later..._

The three occupants of the room sat grimly around a center table where a white envelope lay, marked with the Holyhead Harpies insignia.

"It could still just be Gwen sending me a monthly ticket," Horace Slughorn said, breaking the silence. Still he stared at the envelope, afraid to touch it, his sense of self-preservation far too strong for him to risk testing out his hypothesis.

"You think it's the cursed medal, don't you?" McGonagall asked.

"It's very likely," I replied. "It had to be meant for someone who he knows appreciates Quidditch. Given that he seems to be targeting people who fought directly against Lord Voldemort, I narrowed down the possible recipients to you," I gestured at Slughorn, "and myself. In the likelihood it's for neither of us, I sent warning messages out to a few others as well. It's the best I could do."

"We can discuss this all night or we can find out. If it's not too much, I much prefer the latter. I have an early meeting with the Board of Governors and I have to get enough rest if I'm going to summon the patience required to not snap at them. How Albus ever managed to remain so cheerful after every meeting, I will never know..." McGonagall shook her head wistfully, a fleeting look of fondness on her face as she recalled her former friend. Then it was replaced with a hard frown as she turned to me. "If you will, Harry."

I gave her a wry smile and reached for the envelope with a gloved hand.

"Be careful," Slughorn warned, and I saw both him and the Headmistress draw their wands.

I made a small tear at the side of the envelope, and a two objects slipped out onto the surface of the table. A folded letter, and a burnished bronze coin attached to a red, white and blue chain. Slughorn dabbed at his sweating forehead with a silken handkerchief as he unfurled the letter and read.

_Hi Horace,_

_Someone sold this old medal to me for a few Sickles, and imagine my surprise when I realised it belonged to none other but the famous Roderick "Racer" Plumpton! Anyway I thought it would make a fine addition to your Quidditch collection. Try not to wear it._

_Signed,_

_Gwenog Jones_

_Captain of the Holyhead Harpies._

Slughorn looked pale and shaken when he read the last line. "Why me?"

"It makes sense," I replied softly. "Other than myself, it had to be someone with enough ties to Quidditch to not question the worth of the medal. Someone who would be blinded enough by such a gift that they would put it on and immediately trigger the curse. I mean no offence," and Slughorn waved it off, "but you fit the bill quite nicely."

"How could he know?" Slughorn asked, his brow furrowed in thought. "My relationship with Gwen is very private."

"Hmm. I can posit two reasons. First it is entirely possible, if a bit far-fetched, to think he sold this to Mrs Jones with the hope that she would send this to you. But how would he know she wouldn't just keep it for herself? It relies too much on chance, and The Poet has proven to be anything but a gambler." I shook my head. "It's far more plausible that there is a second, stronger explanation for this."

McGonagall adjusted her glasses and squinted at the letter herself, attempting to find something off with it. "And what is that?"

"I believe he is in correspondence with someone, someone who knew Slughorn here well enough to know a gift like this would be well received. Notice the 'Try not to wear it' part? It's a subtle dare provoking you to do exactly the opposite, at which point I suspect you'd suffer a most gruesome death."

"Can you break the curse?" Slughorn said at once, his voice hopeful. He ignored McGonagall's glance of exasperation in favor of staring at the medal.

"Without knowing its nature, it will take me sometime," I said, wrapping up the medal with several bands of cloth, taking care not to touch any part of it.

"Regardless of the intended purpose, it would make a fantastic addition to my collection." Slughorn sighed, his face falling. Still, his pale gooseberry eyes lingered longingly on the object until it disappeared into the folds of my robes.

"What are you going to do?" McGonagall asked.

"If you don't mind scribbling a short reply for me," I said to Slughorn, "I can place a weak tracking charm on the owl, not on the reply itself. With any luck, I can get a location as to where the letter is delivered."

A few minutes later, the tawny barn owl which had arrived with the cursed package soared out the open window, a letter fluttering from its talons.

"Now, now we wait and see."

* * *

An hour later we watched as a dot moved across the surface of the map, flickering softly with a red glow. Slowly it came to a stop, pulsing, and a cursive script began to appear beside it.

"Wiltshire," Slughorn breathed.

I stared at the word for a few seconds, a dark gleam lighting up in my eyes.

"Isn't that where..." McGonagall began with a frown.

"Yes. It appears Malfoy still has a lot to answer for."

* * *

A/N: Faves/follows are good and all, don't get me wrong, but reviews are an author's lifeblood. Keep 'em coming!

Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

Hello folks. Longish chapter - we're still in the revenge arc, but it should end at the end of the next chapter, and we can return to the present, main storyline.

Special thanks to CheddarTrek, Constans and IdSayWhyNot over at DLP for helping me turn this chapter into something decent. It was crap at first. You guys rock. Without further ado, here we go.

PS: I had to make a quick change to the end of the last chapter to flow with this one better.

* * *

An hour later we watched as a dot moved across the surface of the map, flickering softly with a red glow. Slowly it came to a stop, pulsing, and a cursive script began to appear beside it.

"19 Coventry Street," Slughorn breathed.

I stared at the word for a few seconds, a dark gleam lighting up in my eyes.

"That's in London, isn't it." McGonagall said with a frown. "What is he doing there?"

"I guess I'll soon be finding out."

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

My trainers smacked against the pavement as I jogged, clad in a pair of white shorts and a t-shirt that stuck to my chest uncomfortably, because of all the sweat dripping from my body.

Panting with exertion, the hot summer sun burning against my exposed skin, I came to a stop beside a park bench, and its only occupant scooted to the side to allow me space without looking up. I sat down.

For a minute or so neither of us spoke - he sat quietly, a folder in his lap while I bobbed my head in tune to the music from the iPod Dudley had gotten me for my birthday. A few teenagers passed by, giggling as they took in the man's unusual appearance, but a glare from him and they run off quickly.

"You stink," the man muttered, without turning towards me.

"Shut it," I retorted, scowling, but didn't look in his direction. "Besides I told you to try and blend in. A leather trenchcoat on a very sunny day is not blending in. How the hell did they let you through Concealment and Disguise class?"

Even though I wasn't looking at his face, I could feel his sheepish grin. "Brockwell is a joke, he let's almost everyone through with a passing grade. Only one of the girls failed that class last year. She wore a bright yellow ballet dress to what was supposed to a muggle party."

"And this is any better than that?"

"It looked cool." was his only response.

I shook my head. "Did you find out anything?"

He nodded. "You were right." He took the time to swat at a bee that zipped too close with a brown folder before continuing. "Turns out there's an extra building in there, which's why the spacing felt all wonky and didn't make sense. It's veiled to muggle and wizard alike, so that explains why even your fancy glasses couldn't see anything."

"Is that all?" It was something to work with, now that my suspicions were confirmed. "Thanks. I should be able to pull together a few friends, call in a few favors. With enough luck we should be able to work something out."

_Bill, George, maybe even Charlie and Percy. _I'd been reluctant to involve any of them, but I could use the help. And I knew they'd be more than willing if I asked - I wasn't the only who'd lost family to the fucking sociopath. They all had a score to settle, same as I. I made to get up.

"Hold your horses. No need," Ben responded, and I looked up in surprise. "I'm right ahead of you."

He grinned, drummed his fingers along the folder on his lap. "I did a little bit more digging. It turns out the hidden building is a Gentlemens' Club, if you catch my drift." He wagged his eyebrows. "Top-secret, exclusive, hush hush stuff. Got everything on file here. Not on just any ordinary file too." A tone of pride seeped into his voice. "I snuck in and copied this from the vault of the folks at ITF."

"ITF?!" I hissed. "You could've been caught, you dunderhead! I told you not —"

He laughed, brushing my protests off. "Could have, but I wasn't. No risk no reward. All's well that ends well. Yada yada yada. Besides I told you, Kingsley seems to think the mole might be one of the senior guys. He's having a few of your buddies watched. He doesn't suspect any of the rookies a wink."

I exhaled. "You did good, but still that was stupid. I could've gotten it another way without you risking yourself. You need the work, and Sara'll have my head if I got you fired."

"Geez, that's the thanks I get?"

I exhaled. "Thanks. You've said me a lot of trouble. But next time I don't want you putting your head on the line. Not for me. _Capische?_"

He looked like he wanted to argue, but I threw him a stern look.

"Fine."

"Good." My glare lessened into a frown. "Anyway, how did the schematics of a strip club make its way in there? How come it's on file at the Ministry of all places?"

"Seems like some bigshot got a permit. A lot of private contractors do this sort of work, but this club has some heavy clout, it seems. None of the seedy Knockturn alley bullshit type. Unplottable, licensed internal port-keying, " he ticked them off his fingers, "anti-apparition wards, repulsion fields, undetectable charms, concealment charms, security wards, the works. It's a wonder you sensed anything at all."

"Magic always leaves traces, sometimes very distinctive traces."

"Mhm, if you say so, magic bloodhound. Anyway..." He started to say something but a red double-decker bus swooped past, the sound of rubber tires screeching against asphalt and the chunking of engines drowned out his voice. "...from the little I read it seems you have to be invited to get in. I wonder what a bloke has to do to get an invite..." he trailed off, musing.

"Should Sara be hearing about this?"

"I'm kidding, just kidding," he rectified. I smiled. "Sara is the only girl for me."

"Glad to hear."

He chuckled, before his voice turned serious. "That fire in Knockturn Alley, you had something to do with it, didn't you? The folks at DMAC had a hard time putting it out. Kingsley's getting very suspicious."

"Let him worry." I dismissed. "Any employee details by chance?"

"It's all in here," he said, thumbing the folder. "Names and addresses of the guys working security. Another link with the Ministry. The lot of them are ex-Hit Wizards, most of them." He gave me a searching glance. "The Poet. He's in there somewhere, isn't he?"

"None of your business. Just leave the folder and go."

"Come on. You can trust me, let me help."

"You're already helping enough as it is. The less you know the better."

This was an argument we had every time, and every time he lost. He sighed."Just be careful."

I stole a look at him. His face was lined with worry. "What, the rookie wants to lecture me now? I haven't been sitting on my arse since I left the Corps you know."

"Of course, I know." He chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. The tension left. "No need to get testy. I'm just saying, whatever you're planning - be careful."

"I'll keep it in mind. You can leave now if that's all."

"There's just one more thing." he paused, and this time it was with a strange note of hesitancy and uncertainty, nothing like his usual boisterous tones.

"Spill. I don't bite."

He gave me a weak smile. "It's about the little one. I know he's not even out of the oven yet, and it's okay if you say no..."

Curious, I looked up to see him twiddling his thumbs, looking down at his ridiculous Western boots. "...But Sara and I, we decided to name him Mike, after her dad, and we'd be honored if." he broke off, still looking down, "We want you to be his godfather, if it's alright with you."

I sat there for a few seconds, stumped. My eyes grew watery. Stupid sweat.

"It's alright if you say n—"

"I'd be honored." I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to look at me, and his eyes widened in mock horror. "Are you crying? That's some sappy shi—"

I laughed, blinking. "Don't push it kid."

"Wait till Sara hears this." Grinning like a fool he got up from the bench and left the folder behind. I watched, incredulous, as he pulled out a wide-brimmed cowboy's hat from out of nowhere. Smirking, he tipped it in my direction and muttered, "Good day, sir." He started to walk away.

"Ben!"

He turned.

"Thank you. For everything."

"Now you had to go and ruin my dramatic exit," he grumbled, but his eyes were teasing. The corner of his lips curled up into a wide smile. "No problem. You're welcome, but you owe me drinks when this is over. A lot of drinks."

"I'll buy you the whole beerhouse."

"Firewhiskey."

"Deal."

"I have an excellent memory, so no chance I'll forget that."

"If you say so Merlin."

With a chuckle, he stepped up against the edge of the pavement and then taking advantage of the lull in the traffic, sped across the road in his ridiculous garb. His boots clacked loudly against the asphalt. I watched him go, shaking my head in wry amusement. A few people stared at the cowboy in the hot summer sun.

The realization hit me. This was the first time since the funerals that I'd smiled, hell laughed with genuine happiness. As soon this was done, I'd be there to show him the ropes myself. He'd make one heck of an Auror. The thought itself made me smile again.

I slid the folder over, waited there for a couple of minutes till I was sure no one was looking in my direction before disappearing with a tiny pop.

* * *

In front of the glass window of the clothing store, a figure stood so still that nearby shoppers and wandering passersby didn't even take heed of his presence. His eyes were so fixed on an empty park bench across the street that it was easy to dismiss him as part of the store's mannequin display.

Which is why everyone was startled when the little girl with pigtails in the nice summer dress dropped her ice cream cone and screamed, her finger pointed at the moving mannequin.

For a second, there was silence, then someone started clapping. Like a ripple, it spread, as several bystanders laughed and applauded at what they assumed was one of those clever scare tv shows. Only one old woman frowned, bristling with indignation at what she saw as a cruel joke on a child no less. However even she was forced to smile as the man who had been pretending to be a mannequin knelt down beside the sobbing girl and gave her hair a small ruffle, before pressing a ten-pound note in her hands.

With everyone's eyes fixed on the now happy little girl, no one seemed to find it a little bit strange that there was a distinct lack of any tv cameras as the mannequin man walked away. And indeed, if anyone had followed him a little further as he turned the kerb, they would have been alarmed to see him disappear into thin air with a pop and a twisted grin on his face. A raven took to the clear sky with a loud caw, startled by the noise.

* * *

Three raps on the front door, there were footsteps and I heard the click of a bolt being unlocked. The wooden door creaked open on rusty hinges, revealing a heavyset man, his ripped torso and the hideous amount of chest hair peeking through his unbuttoned shirt. Brown eyes regarded me from underneath thick eyebrows set in a weathered, scarred face, as if someone had once taken a blade to his face. I ran a quick eye over the rest of his attire. He was unarmed. _How shoddy for a Hit Wizard._

"Mr Taunton?" I asked.

"One and only." He grinned, showing rows of uneven yellowed teeth. His breath had that faint after-smell that came with too much Firewhiskey and mallowsweet pipes. "Who wants to know?"

"I just need a few questions answered. _Selkies & Sirens_. Ring a bell, no?"

His expression darkened, suspicion flitting across his beaten face. "How the hell do you -"

I pulled out my wand and his eyes widened in shock. I watched, amused as he patted himself for his wand, cursing when he realised he didn't have it. He turned to run. The hallway was too narrow and he wasn't quick enough. The jet of red light struck him in the back before he had gotten more than a few paces away from me and crashed to the floor. I walked in and shut the door. I knelt beside his prone body.

"_Legilimens._" I slipped into his undefended mind like an eel through water.

When I left the apartment about half an hour later, Mr Taunton was out cold, his memory of the past hour completely gone. He'd find 200 galleons shoved into his firewhiskey bottle and wonder who put it there. Provided no one came by and stole it before he woke of course. What can I say - I'm a nice man.

* * *

The hook behind my navel disappeared, and I was dumped in a small, brightly-lit alcove in the enclosed club entrance. I had never quite perfected my landings yet, even after all these years. Brushing my immaculate robes of any dirt, I made my way towards the red security booth, my polished shoes clicking against the gleaming paneled floor. Two other men were in queue ahead of me, but soon it was my turn.

Sharp eyes took in my appearance, before the guard, a burly guy who looked like he could wrestle a troll with little difficulty, asked, "Wand and portkey please."

I dropped a silver mermaid figurine and a slender brown wand in the tray he held out.

"First time, sir?" he asked without looking up, passing a short flat probe over the tray. The figurine glowed red, deactivating the portkey, and a thin slip of paper shot out of the probe's tip.

"Yes." I allowed a grin of anticipation to stretch across my face. I could hear the faint strains of laughter and music from behind the large ornate doors just beyond the booth.

He grunted, "Nice," and stepped out of the booth, armed with the glowing blue probe, a wand hanging from a holster attached to his wrist. "Arms out, sir"

He ran the probe over the length of my body. It flickered red for a split second as he moved it beside my feet, before reverting to blue again just as quickly. I stiffened. He frowned and gave it a flick.

"I'm sorry sir, but I'll need you to lift both of your feet for me."

I stood quite still and slowly raised my right leg. My eyes followed his every movement as he knelt down and brought his probe closer. He repeated the motion and this time the probe remained blue.

"Other foot sir."

_Fuck!_

The foyer was empty. No witnesses, if I was fast enough. I lifted my right leg slowly, running through a list of ways I could quickly knock him out without causing a racket. I eyed the back of his head.

_A swift strike to the base of his neck will do. _

Time seemed to crawl to a stop. He was moving the probe down my leg now.

Still blue.

I watched for any hint of a flash, ready to act. He run the probe around my shoe. No change. He straightened up. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. My fists relaxed.

"I apologise for the inconvenience, sir. The silly thing must be malfunctioning." He smacked the probe against his palm. "You're clean."

"Not to worry. No harm done."

"I put in an order for a replacement." He entered his booth and reappeared behind the glass partition. "Keep this with you, sir."

The slip of paper shot out of a tiny slot. I pulled it out. _11 inches, Acacia and dragon heartstring. _

Taunton's wand. Since all wands taken were not registered against identity (given how many members of the clientele were loath to giving out their real names) there's was little danger of me being found out. He tapped a button, and the wand disappeared in a flash of white light, gone to a secret holding. Hopefully Taunton would get it back during investigations. If not he could always buy himself a new one with the money I left him.

"You'll need it to retrieve your wand before you leave." The guard gave me a contrite look. "You know the rules, sir. I'd hate to have to throw you out if you broke any. Enjoy your stay and I hope you have fun."

"You have no idea." I chuckled and tucked the piece of paper into my robes. The massive mahogany doors beside the booth swept open with a grinding noise, and I stepped through into the heart of the most exclusive Gentleman's Club in magical England.

* * *

The air grew thick with the pungent but pleasant smell of mallowsweet fumes once I entered through the large doors, which was flanked by two menacing robed figures. They didn't spare me a single glance as I walked past.

Pink strobe lights hung from the ceiling and several well-dressed men sat in groups on a number of couches littered across the floor, sharp eyes and lecherous smiles focused towards the middle of the room. There, at the very center, on a raised dais littered with gold coins, three scantily clad girls gyrated around the stripper poles extending to the domed roof, their bodies glistening as they danced, every move designed to inflame the pleasures. A band played a soft, sensuous tune in a corner of the room, away from the main area.

_Selkies & Sirens_, spelt in glittering pink neon letters in front of the alcohol bar. A gentlemen's club that catered to less than savory pleasures of the crème de la crème of the Wizarding society - membership was by invitation-only. From the file Ben had given me, the building was located in an old muggle underground storage facility, carefully concealed by numerous charms and wards. Entrance and departure from the premises were by means of specially-issued arrival-departure portkeys obtainable at the security booths and renewed with each visit.

I made my way to an empty couch and sat, plopping my feet onto the glass table as I pretended to stare around in fascination. Not cavernous by any means, the room was still quite full and not a little bit loud. Several half-naked waitresses flitted through the couches and tables, taking orders or cozying up to some of the patrons. I watched one giggle as she led a man away from his table, and together they walked through one of the doors to the left and disappeared.

I waved one of the girls over, a tall, shapely redhead, and she strutted over, her breasts jiggling underneath a thin sequined bra. A short lacy skirt completed an outfit that left little to the imagination.

"What can I _do_ for you, mister?" She held out a notepad, placing a high-heeled boot on top of the couch, taking care to show some skin in the process. "You have beautiful blue eyes, sir. Much like my own." She batted her long eyelashes at me.

I grinned, reaching a hand up her skirt. My fingers brushed against her underwear and she squealed with delight and moved to sit on my lap.

"What's your name?"

"Sasha." She twirled a lock of my blond hair around a finger. "But you can call me whatever you want."

"Want to get a room?" I whispered, and gave her ear a soft, small nibble.

Her pink lips curled up into a salacious smile as she nodded and trailed a long, manicured finger along my jaw. It was all the confirmation I needed.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Sasha led me through a narrow, dimly-lit corridor, lined with doors set an inch or so apart from one another. I knew they were magically expanded on the inside. Most of them had blinking signs that said _Occupied. _She stopped at one of the doors that didn't.

"You ready, lover boy?"

She laid her palms against the door and it glowed pink before clicking open. We stepped into an expansive room, just as I had guessed, and the door clicked close behind us.

Pink bedsheets and rose petals covered a massive waterbed in the middle of the room. Scented candles and jars of perfumed oils and soaps surrounded a bathtub in the corner, frothy with large iridescent bubbles. A number of wardrobes sat against the walls, no doubt filled with all manner of implements and devices designed to increase the experience of lovemaking. Several tapestries hung from the walls, showing bodies, man on man, on woman, on beast, entwined and writhing with passion and lust.

And then we were at it, with wild abandon and little ceremony. Arms groping, reaching, hair tousled. She mashed her lips against mine, tongue probing. I gave in with a moan, and pressed my palms against the curve of her back, squeezing. With a tinkling laugh, she pulled away before I could get more.

"Oooh, you're a big one." She gave my groin a healthy yank, and then with a smirk pushed me towards the bed. She did a little dance, then started to divest herself of the few articles of clothing on her body.

"You haven't seen big quite yet," I responded with a smirk of my own.

"We'll see soon, now, won't we, lover boy?" Even her voice came out in a husky whisper as she twirled her bra on a finger, swaying her hips to an invisible beat. She twirled around, and I could see her the curve of her arse showing through her thin panties. She wriggled them down her thighs, drawing out the movement, her eyes fixed on my flushed face with a sly gleam that said she was enjoying every moment of her slow torture. A sudden hotness seemed to fill the room. My robes came off first, in that heartbeat between moments. It was followed swiftly by my undershirt. I fumbled with my belt buckle, overtaken by a sudden passion. The front of my pants bulged uncomfortably.

"So, tell me, _what_ _turns you on_?"

My collar felt too tight. "Right now, you."

She chuckled, and danced out of my despairing reach. "Get naked, and I'll see just how turned on you are."

It was like a command, and I obeyed. My mind was clouded with burning desire as a whiff of lavender and jasmine and a variety of exotic scents swept by my nostrils, clouding my mind with desire, with sheer _need_ for the exquisite creature standing before my eyes. I inhaled deeply, wanting more, and gave my errant, disobedient belt a sharp yank. With a snap, it came off and I flung it onto the Turkish rug on the floor. My head felt light. Sasha seemed to radiate with an otherworldly glow, one that made me want to take her into my arms and make sweet, passionate love to her.

With a saucy wink, as if she could sense my thoughts, she looked at me slyly and gave me the come-hither look. I started to get up. My knees felt gone awol, and the traitorous bastards never even saw fit to alert me. Something brushed against my finger, something soft and small. I gave it a blank stare, struggling to comprehend what it was.

I squinted, and it slowly grew into focus. A single rose petal, red as blood.

Red as blood.

_Fleur's blood. _

_Ron's blood. _

_Hermione's... Neville, Molly, Rose, Hugo._

I blinked. Once, twice. My hands froze from where they had been unlacing my shoes. The sensual haze that twisted and wrapped its lustful tendrils around my mind snapped in one sudden terrible moment of clarity. My fingers began to tremble as I was filled with a slow, hot rage. The room grew even hotter. Only I wasn't angry at the room, or even Sasha. It was the way things operated here; everything was designed to inflame already present desires, to ensnare those who were willing.

And my hands were trembling, my eyes were watering because I had been willing. A tiny part of me yes, but a part of me all the same. Willing to give in, to lose myself to the mindless forgetfulness only sex and booze could bring. When I stared at Dolohov's face in the mirror that day after I found Fleur's broken body was taken, I had been sure that the hatred I felt could never be surpassed.

But now, as my heart strings twisted in my chest, I felt something infinitely more acute.

It wasn't enough that he had dared to take them away from me. By hiding here like a coward, by forcing me to follow to this wretched, glorified whorehouse where temptations run fast and deep, his earlier blasphemy was surpassed. Now his sin was far far worse - he sought to outdo his blasphemy by trying to make me forget - my love, vows, treasured memories, everything. And I had nearly given in, nearly been seduced by desire which tainted this place. It was almost ironic that in hiding, his inadvertent choice of hiding location had nearly proved to be his biggest coup of all...

With every passing second, the horrors I had planned for him increased in depravity.

_Some say revenge is a dish best served cold - yes, in little cold slices of never-ending hell._

Sasha's voice coaxed me out of my demented fantasies. "You need any help?"

"I got it," I responded, fiddling with my shoe. I took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

"You sure?" She pouted. A minute before now it would've been sexy as hell, now I was only filled with a faint sense of pity and revulsion for her - for what life had reduced her to, reduced us to.

"Wait for me in the tub. I'll join you soon"

"If you say so." She shrugged and walked over to the bath tub, nipples perking as she cupped her pert breasts with a hand. A finely trimmed bush glistening, beckoning tantalisingly from between her long legs. Only now, her movements held absolutely no promise of desire and temptation. She might as well as be a man. I had seen, loved, kissed and fucked perfection itself. She wasn't even fit to be labelled a pale imitation.

She flicked a tongue over her moist lips and stepped into the tub. "Well don't take too long, lover boy." Her long legs disappeared into the depths of the foamy water and soap suds.

The iron sole of my shoe came out in my hand, revealing a mokeskin pouch wedged into a hollowed out portion, filled with everything I needed tonight. Iron distorts magic - the security guy's probe had been weak enough that my deception had held underneath his scrutiny. I reached inside, a single request on my mind, and smiled as the familiar, knotted length of a wand jumped into my hand.

The Elder Wand, for I could never seek to defile the Holly Wand in such a manner._ The Wand chooses the wizard... _And I had a feeling that though I was its master, Fawkes' second feather would not sing tonight, not to a tune of blood, not with the manner of arcane curses that flashed through my mind even at this instant_. _

But the black heart of the Deathstick would, even now as I grasped it, I could feel that morbid thrum of power, thirsty, whispering for the blood of those who had wronged me - and I would sate it, until we were both drunk on the red nectar of those who dared to cross us.

"You sure you don't need any help there, love?"

"I've got all the help I need." I pointed my wand at her.

She pulled her head out of the soapy water, took one look at me and let out the most earsplitting scream I've ever had the displeasure of hearing. It was little wonder she was in this line of work, her screams must be what they hired her for. She screamed and screamed then screamed some more, until an irritated flick of my wand cut her off. I was suddenly grateful for the soundproofed room.

With a silent whimper, now that she had been robbed of her voice, she backed into the tub, sending foam sloshing everywhere. I read her lips mouthing frantically, _Don't hurt me, don't hurt me_.

I rolled my eyes. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you. Just promise you won't scream anymore."

Her head bobbed up and down in agreement, and it did all sorts of wonderful things to her ample chest. A simple wave and she had her voice back.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"What do you want?" She shrieked. "How did you get in here with a wand?"

"Still too loud." I winced and wagged the wand at her. She quieted down at once. "And it's none of your business."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I just need some of your hair. Nothing you can't give."

"What in Merlin's beard would you want my hair for?"

I laughed out loud at the inadvertent pun and she frowned at me, her forehead scrunched up. Easy to tell she wasn't very bright. All looks and no brains.

"Are you one of those weirdo fetish guys? Because I can still call the guards you know."

"If your screams didn't reach them, I doubt anything else you can do will."

"There's other ways."

"Bullshit. But by all means go for it." I gave her a dark smile. "You'd be down before you could lift a pretty little finger.

She slumped back, defeated. "I'm not giving you my hair."

"Don't be silly, I don't want all your hair. Just a strand or two. You give it to me willingly, and I'll even pay you for it, because I'm a nice man, and nice men don't steal from pretty girls. Or," I ticked off a finger, "I knock you out and take it, because I can be not-so-nice. Either way is fine by me."

"How much?" A shrewd look entered her eyes, now that she was certain she was in no real danger and there was money to be made. "Besides, aren't you a bit too young to be attempting a robbery? I'm not sure who you are, but the big boss is not a man to be crossed."

"Who mentioned anything about a robbery?" I slid a small bag of coins across the floor. She eyed it with wary interest, as if it could bite, but otherwise made no move towards it. "Though for the record, robbing this place would be a piece of cake if I put my mind to it."

"If you say so."

"The hair."

"Are you sure that's all you want?" She puckered her juicy lips in a lascivious manner. "I can give you a good, hard fuck. You look like you can use one."

"I've had better," I dismissed.

"Pity," was her only reply. She pulled out a long strand from her wet, glistening hair and held it out. I summoned it and started gathering up her clothes from the floor.

"Hey! What are you doing with those? I never said you could have them."

"Oh, I forgot to add one more thing." I turned my wand in her direction, smirking. She paled. "I get to knock you out either way."

I could hear the gears grinding as her mouth opened with a soft 'Oh'. She seemed to take a long deep breath in, and stretched her mouth wide open, preparing to scream.

I didn't let her get that far. "_Somnius Somnium!_" She slumped down softly, her hand draped over the edge of the tub. I pulled out a tiny vial, the color of molten gold. _Felix Felicis_, a generous gift from Slughorn. Enough time wasted, time to get to work.

* * *

My high-heeled shoes clicked and clacked on the floor as I wobbled back into the bar, taking care to avoid a lot of attention. Fucking heels, Sasha made it way look effortless the way she glided in them. The ensemble I had taken from her was now modified into something more dignified than a whore's attire; even though I now looked exactly like her, the thought that any of these men might have lewd thoughts about me made my skin crawl. If I had to escort anyone to a room, the chances were I'd break a nose.

I sashayed amongst the tables, sticking closer to the ones where there was already a waitress or two entertaining the drunken occupants. Luckily for me, there were fewer people now, the missing ones likely writhing in passion in one of the pleasure rooms or gone home early, to resist arousing the suspicions of trophy housewives who had long since traded sex appeal for the layers of fat brought on by living lives of excessive luxury and indulgence.

Some of the more paranoid folk came under various layers of disguise, unassured by the all-encompassing terms of the contract. Despite that his graying hair was dyed and he had a fake beard on, I recognised the portly Sir Bristlewood, general manager of Thunderstrike Racing Broom Company, speaking quite amiably to young Julian Fortescue, heir to the Fortescue fortune and an utterly despicable fellow who was nothing like his deceased dad. Rita Skeeter and her ilk would make a fortune if they ever got their hands on any of this information.

I felt a hand squeeze my backside out of nowhere, and I clamped down on the all-consuming urge to smash the face of whoever had dared. He squeezed harder and my hands twitched towards my wand. One word, all it would take was one word to wipe the insipid look off from his likely smirking face. Instead I turned, pasting what I hoped was a sensuous smile on my face.

The man, a pasty-skinned, watery-eyed fellow, old enough to be my father twice over, tapped the spot beside him with a thick meaty hand, adorned with several jeweled rings. Keeping a scowl off my face, I sidled in beside him.

"What's your name, sweetheart." He leaned in, too close for comfort, and his alcohol-reeking breath washed over my face.

"Sasha." I blurted out the first name that came to mind.

"Sasha," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "What a wonderful name!" He let out a hearty laugh suddenly, and his walrus beard was still quivering in mirth as he swept a heavy arm around my shoulders. I stiffened but didn't resist. "Now Sasha -"

But I wasn't listening to him any longer. I heard something behind me, something that made my heart race with excitement. Faint stirrings of a conversation reached my ears, and I drowned out the walrus' voice.

"...Come on, Malfoy... a .. bit... there's... beautiful... fun."

"Sasha!"

I turned and flinched as a spray of spit flickered onto my cheeks. I had forgotten about the walrus. He started to speak, his beady eyes angry, but I swept a hand over his mouth and another snaked onto his thigh. He quieted down at once, outburst forgotten and I felt him shudder as I brought my lips to his ear.

"Not tonight, fattie!" I hissed quietly, and dug my wand into his side. "_Somnus Somnium!"_

He didn't even have the time to look surprised as the invisible sleep spell struck him at point blank range, invisible but effective, and his head drooped forward onto his chest. Disgusted, I pushed him away from me and he slumped onto the cushion, fast asleep.

The voices were coming from one of the tables closer to the strippers' stage, where two men sat, a number of empty bottles in front of them. One of them, a lean man with a trimmed goatee, waved a waitress over with his walking stick. The other one, a well-dressed half-drunk brute of a man, ogled her as she danced her way over, a tray of expensive decanters perched precariously in her hands even as her hips swayed with exaggerated motions. I listened closer.

"You are a riot, Malfoy." The brute laughed and held his glass out for the waitress.

_Score one for Felix and the Felicis!_

Interesting. So the lean one was Lucius. I smirked; poor Narcissa mustn't quite be cutting it anymore. The waitress, a tall, leggy blonde, set the drinks down and poured out a generous amount. She reached for Lucius' glass but he waved her off, an irritated look on his face.

"Wanna spend the night with me?" The brute grabbed the blonde by the hand and pulled her closer. Laughing, he turned to Lucius and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "What say you?"

"No more, Antonin," Lucius hissed. "That's quite enough."

_Zzzzzz..._

It was as if someone had turned the sound down, because all I could feel was a dull buzzing noise as a tide of potent red hot fury washed over me, carrying me away on a veritable sea of rage.

I was dimly aware of the seat rattling.

Rub-dub, rub-dub_... _

_The sound of his heartbeat as it pumped frantically, not to keep him alive, but because it could sense this was the last lap, that the one who would rip it from its hallowed place had come._

There he was, the coward who had stolen everything away from me. Laughing as if with no cares in the world. The anger I had kept caged behind a dam was threatening to burst. My hand snaked towards my wand - just a few words, a few words and I could bathe in his blood, dance to the music of his tortured screams. My vision tinged with red.

_The Wand of Destiny thrummed against my thigh, eager to another mark to its deathly tally - almost fervent to slake its unending hunger with flesh and blood and death as was its sole purpose since it had been born of Death's bony hands._

Just overhead, a light shook and flickered.

Suddenly even the most innocuous of objects looked murderous, wicked, _perfect_.

_I could shove the corks down his throat and watch as he choked helplessly for air. I could ram his head against the table until brain matter was indistinguishable from bits of bone and blood._

A spiderweb of cracks slithered through the surface of the glass table with a shudder.

I could feel my hands trembling with warmth as phantom blood gushed everywhere_... I held his head above mine, dripping bits of blood and spine and sinew, proof that all wrongs had been righted. I could —_

"You alright, Sash?"

A clenched hand flew up, stopping just short of a startled face and the person who had spoken. A girl with a heart-shaped face and short black bangs stumbled back in fright.

_The Elder Wand quieted down, its fevered song dulling to the faint strains of a dying tune. But I could sense it, gone but not forgotten, only lying in wait, biding its time. It had learnt patience, if nothing else, through its long and bloody sojourn across history. Since its birth on that fateful night, when three luckless wizards met with the master himself. Death._

"What the hell, Sash?" she asked, her face lined with worry and a little fear. I drew in a deep breath which did little to calm the sea of roiling anger I felt. "Are you alright?"

I nodded and gave her a stiff smile, not trusting myself to speak.

"Did one of them do anything? I can have Oswald throw them out."

I had no idea who Oswald was, probably one of the guards, so I shook my head. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She gave me an anxious, searching look. "If you say so." She shrugged and walked away.

_As though it could sense her departure, I felt a soft heat start to rub against my thigh. The Elder Wand was already stretching, awake from its short slumber. _

I grasped three wooden corks off the table. No one seemed to be paying me any attention. I snuck them underneath the cover of the table, cupping my wand tip to reduce any light from filtering through, and whispered, "_Portus._" There was a soft blue glow as the spell worked. I looked back up, at the table of those who had brought me so much pain. The blonde waitress was leaving. With a smile that had very little to do with happiness, I got up, slipped my bra down just a little bit and strutted over.

The Elder Wand was getting hotter. _Soon, my love._

"Hello, gentlemen." I swept away the bottles and glasses on top of the table and sat, bracing my arms behind me and crossing my legs. I hitched my skirt up and Dolohov wolf-whistled. "What does a girl have to do to get your attention?"

_Tear those lips off his face, so he can never smile again. Rip out his throat, the world has suffered senseless his laughter for too long._

Dolohov burst into a deep laugh, and my blood boiled at the sight. It was a struggle to keep the hatred from showing in my eyes. My own smile didn't waver any, thoughts of how I wanted to rip his throat out serving as ample motivation. Lucius had looked up at my bold behavior but now he wore this look of disinterest.

"What's your name, pretty thing?" Dolohov asked. He swiveled me around, so that my knees were now on either sides of his face.

"Sasha." With a purr, I lifted his chin with a finger, and flicked my tongue at him. "But you can call me whatever you want, lover-boy."

"Sasha. I like the sound of that," Dolohov rasped, his voice husky with desire. He turned to Lucius and bumped the aristocrat on the arm. "Can I keep this one? She's a real looker."

"Send her away," he replied without sparing either of us a look.

"Spoilsport," Dolohov grumbled. He turned to me, covering his mouth in a conspiratorial manner, and stage-whispered, "He's been grumpy all night. I've been trying to get him to loosen up a little bit."

"Allow me," I whispered back and nudged Lucius with the tip of my shoes. "Yeah, don't be such a sourpuss, Lucius. Live a little." My voice tightened with murderous humor. "After all, you never know when you're going to die."

Both of them stiffened at once, and Lucius' eyes narrowed, which narrowed on my face. "How the —"

With a vicious smirk I drew my knee back and smashed it down into his nose. His head snapped back as he howled in pain, spurting blood everywhere. I felt a sudden movement - Dolohov's hand was flying towards his pocket. With a snarl, I slammed my knee into his chest, stopping him cold.

"Don't move motherfucker," I snarled into his ear, jabbing the tip of my wand into his cheek, "or I'll blow your fucking brains out."

* * *

There it is. I'm quite eager to know what you think, so drop me a review - what's working, what's not. If you took an hour or so to read this, surely you can spare a minute or two for a comment. Thanks in advance and cheers!

~AlbusPHolmes~


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